


Chloroform Boy

by Al_D_Baran



Series: Dark Voltron Fics [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Body Horror, Dark, Dolls, Gen, Gore, Guro, Horror, Medical Torture, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Objectification, Snuff, medical gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 18:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13277340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Al_D_Baran/pseuds/Al_D_Baran
Summary: Keith is pretty like a doll. And he's nearly perfect.





	Chloroform Boy

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for the dark voltron zine!  
> there were so much talented artists and writers in Eternal Eclipse so it was really an honour to be part of them.

Pretty.

It’s something that often comes back. A word people use to describe him.

At the Garrison _pretty boy_ was an insult meant to rile him up. It worked more times than Keith is willing to admit. In town it was something people yelled at him from across the street, languid and dripping.

It’s become something he’s used to. Yes, he’s pretty. Now what? That doesn’t change anything about him. Appearance is the last of his worry, has always been. _Learn to take a compliment, you cunt,_ some would answer. But Keith didn’t care, didn’t fear coming to fists with anyone who would hurl these words at him.

 _Pretty_ ’s just troubles to him.

And it didn’t change in space, much to his dismay and surprise. Then to his horror, Sendak (the first Galra to ever see him) commented with a carnivore smirk that he was _pretty_. Something like ice-cold tar had trickled down his back at that. Sendak looked like a monster from fairy tales, all sharp teeth and claws, inhuman and powerful.

Pretty’s a danger, Keith thought then, if it followed him to _space_ , in the mouth of something as different as that beast.

It happens often enough. Pretty, they say. Keith doesn’t care, politely offers a timid _thank you_ to avoid political scandals when someone notifies him that his face has a pleasing arrangement. That his nose is regal yet small, straight and charming. That his skin is soft and unblemished, without any visible scars, hairless. That his hair is dark like the night sky, soft. Smile, agree. Look nice and shut up, as Allura puts it. Bear with it, as Shiro asks, a little nicer. This is for Voltron. He can take the jeers and the unwanted praises for a little while.

When these willowy aliens Allura insists are indispensable for Voltron tell him he’s _pretty_ , Keith thinks nothing of it. They’re humanoid enough, look quite human if not for a few details. Eyes dark without visible pupils and entirely white skin. Sharper teeth, longer claws, a widow’s peak. The devoid eyes and strange mouths make a chill run down his spine.

“Pretty… pretty like a doll,” they all say.

Keith isn’t sure he’s quite like a doll. The insistence makes it odd and Keith can feel the unease bubble inside him and turn to anger, like milk turning sour.

“It’s only for a couple hours more,” Shiro reminds him when he can detach himself from his duty as the Black Paladin, a reassuring hand on his shoulder, his warm smile a comfort Keith willingly takes. “Bear with it, buddy. I’m checking on you. Give me a sign if you need me, okay?”

He’s safe, Keith thinks.

He accepts a glass of alcohol from an insisting alien. _What’s this?_ he asks, and the tall host assures him it is a popular, cultural drink on their planet. Keith mentions wine and cheeseburgers but his joke falls flat enough to earn a forced, sympathetic laugh. The embarrassment prompts him to go bottoms up. The burn in his throat is welcome, and the pleasant numbness it brings keeps him steady.

Just a little more.

Pretty. Pretty like a doll.

 

 

 

Keith wakes up to the sensation of someone pulling his mouth opens.

The reception —

He sputters, tries to bite or fight. But he’s strapped down with what feels and sounds like leather, held tightly against a cool metal table, only warmed up by his own body heat – he’s been stripped of all clothes. It’s dark but a lamp illuminates part of the room, and a window lets the milky light of the planet’s moons through. The window is high on the wall, like in a basement, higher than he is tall, unattainable.

As much as he tries to buck his head away from the prying hands they eventually manage to push his lower jaw down, a spider gag entering his mouth, keeping it open and wide. He’s propped up just enough so that he won’t choke, the spit rolls off his lower lip, humiliating him even more.

Someone’s panting next to him and finally Keith turns to who he assumes to be his captor. The alien is standing right next to the bright light, the only one, swinging like a pendulum over them and subsequently flooding them in light, then darkness. Keith's perspective is shifted and odd, everything looks weird, like a fish-eye sequence in a horror movie.

Except Keith’s the starring role.

The alien smiles warmly, too much so. For a second, Keith expects him to untie him. Maybe the one who’s gagged him is on the ground, and this… maybe the friendly alien of the reception had just saved him. But there’s no one here but the two of them and the alien keeps this wide, weird smile as he reaches to pat his cheeks.

“Ah, my darling… you’re finally awake,” he croons, caressing Keith's naked shoulders.

Keith tries to pull away, hating the touches, hating the feeling of these inhumanly cold hands on him. The leather straps don’t let him move too much – he can only pull as much as he can press into the alien’s hands. He’s called him “darling” a few times tonight – it made him uncomfortable, but Keith tried to believe it had only been some sort of customs, some sort of amiable behaviour.

He should have known he was just a creep.

“Ah, Darling… don’t move like this. The leather will cut through your wrists.”

When two hands grip his forearms, Keith is forced to stop. He stares up at the alien above him, hoping for one second that he’ll free him. That he’ll take off the gag that’s drying his throat and take away the cuffs that have already bitten his flesh raw.

“You have such beautiful, flawless skin,” the alien says, killing his hopes with only a few words. No need for stones.

Keith renews his thrashing with even more determination, letting out a cry of rage, attempting to pry his forearm away from the too sleek hands. The alien holds out a sharp, too big needle and Keith feels suddenly faint, the mundane fear producing a sob from his throat. Keith’s always been deadly terrified of syringes and for an instant, it scares him more than anything that lunatic could do to him.

He can’t help a shrill scream, fighting energetically against his bounds to try to free his arm from the cold clutch, eyes closing in fright as expert hands insert the needle under his skin and into his vein, a clear tape applied right over.

“Were you scared of the needle, darling?” the alien asks, petting his hair in what should be an affectionate caress, a reassuring one. Keith would have spit on him if he could, feeling the shapes and lights grow bigger, wider, towering above him even more. What feels now like a crooked, willowed tree above him murmurs, “You don’t have to be scared. You’re almost perfect. And you will be in an instant. We just have to get rid of a few things. And you’ll be perfect, just like a doll.”

Keith renews his struggle with a raging cry. He can’t believe he’s thought, even for a single second, that this man would free him. And even before, that he wouldn’t be dangerous. He thinks of how he should have approached Shiro again, how he should have told Allura that this man creeped him out. Even just stuck close to Lance and Hunk, who seemed to have been getting along just fine with the locals.

His own politeness and awkwardness had trapped him just where he was. He’s dug his own grave and was too much of a coward to climb out of it when it was still time.

He struggles, still, more out of desperation and stubbornness than thinking he could free himself. There’s something wet on his palm – when Keith looks down, he sees the blood dripping from his skin, rubbed raw by the constant movement with the tight leather holding him down. The blood is too bright, blinding, and he closes his eyes.

The alien tuts disapprovingly, tightening the chains to keep him stretched wide on the cool metal. Keith screams sound distorted and odd. Whatever is coursing through him in freezing waves is making him sluggish, immobilizing his body but leaving him painfully aware of everything happening around him. It reminds him of sleep paralysis, even more so with the distorted, grey-skinned being that looms above him.

Soon he can’t scream. All he can do is let out small, desperate sounds. It doesn’t stop the alien. Keith's chests still jostle with his attempts to lurch out of reach.

“Come on, darling,” his captor says. “Don’t be like this. You’ll be even more beautiful than you are now. Now let’s get to work, shall we? We have a long night ahead of us. You’ll be so beautiful.”

When another needle is brought forward, bigger and crooked this time, Keith thinks he could faint. When it comes closer to his face, he whimpers, earning the gentle shushing of the madman above him. The needle gleams in the light, a thread shines behind it.

“Don’t move now,” he orders, voice soft and even.

Keith tries to scream when the pain goes through his gum, just under his teeth. It comes out under his chin, the warmth of blood covering his throat and the copper taste invading his mouth. He’s reduced to choked sobs when it comes back again and again. When he tries to bite as the alien is forced to remove the gag of his mouth, fingers invade it instead, keeping it open as the needle ravages his mouth, again and again, coming out his nose once then twice... His jaw closes as the thread is tied and pulled. He can feel it rubbing inside his flesh, causing more blood to come out and spill all over his chin.

He can’t open his mouth anymore. He’s silenced to muffled sounds of indignation. That sick man, he can only think, again and again. Keith stares out the single window at the end of the room, desperate to see someone there, tries to find a light, maybe upstairs under the slit of a door, somewhere to escape.

But there’s nothing.

His now stifled pleas fall on deaf ears.

It’s not in him to beg but now that it’s been ripped out of his options, Keith wishes he could have. The alien occupies himself with a happy little tune he hums to himself, swirling a scalpel over his fingers before cutting into the flesh of his sides.

Keith can’t scream anymore. So he doesn’t.

Closing his eyes won’t help, but still Keith cannot help it as he feels his ribs being cut off, as he hears the dull noise of a bone saw becoming the shrill cry of a monster.

“Your waist is already so small, my darling,” the alien murmurs in awe as he starts sewing him closed. “You’ll be so pretty, so pretty like a doll.”

That word should have been the reddest of flags.

Pretty like a doll.

It’s suddenly clear. Keith's eyes are covered by something opaque when he opens them again, quick flashes of light breaking through the darkness. There’s the smell of something burning – he recognises it from battles. The smell of searing hair. It makes sense. When his eyes can’t see, Keith can finally understand that monster’s plan.

Keith screams again when he’s cut just under his jaw, uncovering the bone to the air. Something grinds against his very jawbone, shaving off the mandible. Keith shakes – he thinks it’s the blood loss, perhaps the terror too. His whole body shakes in time with the ear-splitting sound it makes. The sutures can’t even compare to it. Keith feels the wetness under him, warm and sticky, slipping in big drops into his hair. It smells. He’s never smelled it so strongly before, the burning smell invading his very nostrils once again.

His eyelids slip closed.

When he wakes up again, drowsy and with his head pounding with each of his heartbeats, Keith sees the alien over him, staring at him worriedly, gently patting his cheeks. His legs feel like they’ve been broken in multiple places – he remembers the feeling, he had broken his legs once or twice before, as a child. But now they’ve been cut, he notices, staring at the holes in them as if the limbs don’t belong to him.

“Ah, my poor darling… this is so hard on you. Beauty is so difficult, isn’t it? But we’re almost done. Soon, you’ll be the perfect doll.”

Febrile, the alien’s breathing is hard, as if laboured. He kisses his forehead and Keith shivers with… he’s not quite sure. Disgust? It doesn’t feel like it. Terror? He’s too resigned for it. Something muddled and vague, with his tired mind too weak to comprehend yet.

“Let’s just get this over so you can rest, sweetheart.” The alien giggles.

Keith closes his eyes. Resignation. No. He’s still livid with anger and agony, sending his tormentor a dark glare.

The clean scalpel shines before him and Keith wonders grimly where it’ll go next. Where it’ll maim him this time.

Keith’s mind isn’t dark enough to comprehend just where it’s going – when it cuts around his nipple, his breath catches in his throat. A blaring pain courses all over his skin and he tries to fight again, managing to slip his raw wrist from the cuff but, too weak from all the blood he’s shed, it only falls limps beside the table, swinging in the humid air.

This time, he feels the defeat weigh on him with the reality of his nightmare, sitting on his chest and holding him down, weak, hostage to this singing madman next to him. He can’t help the hiccups and the tears, as hot as he is shaking from being so, so cold. Keith’s not sure why – it’s just a nipple, it’s quite useless to him but he feels tainted, chipped, incomplete.

“Oh, darling…” comes the desolate voice of the alien, cupping his cheek to wipe the bloody snot from his nose. Keith whips his face away. Nothing can be worse than this. What does he gain from doing this? “This is dirty,” he explains, like he would have to a child who did not understand putting mud in their mouth was a bad idea. “You don’t need this to be beautiful, my doll. I’m sure you’ll understand eventually, this is for your own good.”

The alien steps away from him with a huff of gentle indignation, as if he was punishing him out of love and care. When he steps between his spread legs with his gleaming butcher knife in hands, Keith can only stare, thinking that, after all, it could have always been worse. The alien touches his flaccid prick with disdain.

Again, Keith closes his eyes with a silent scream because he can’t bear to see it. He’s the only one to hear his screams, trapped in his very own mouth.

“Almost done. Just one more thing…”

 _What can it be?_ Keith wonders. His legs shake from the pain and his eyes can’t stay open, the room feels dark and brighter above him. When his throat is cut open and more blood bubbles into his mouth and down his throat, he thinks he’s finally killed him. And he won’t have to live with what’s left of him – but the whines he makes turn to breathy rasps. And when the hole’s closed and he comes back to his senses after nearly choking, he can only gurgle weakly. The alien tosses a little bit of flesh, white and pink, without a care.

“Dolls don’t speak.”

He’s been silenced twice.

And now he can’t even scream.

When he’s untied and he can look at the gaping hole sewed back together, Keith thinks, rightfully, that he should feel emasculated staring at the smoothness of his crotch. And yet he only feels numb, detached. The feeling is too weak again, somehow. He’s been touched deeper than this. It’s like the monster has opened him up completely, pulled his ribcage apart and plucked every piece of his souls like flowers in spring. The alien rolls a full-length mirror in front of them, holding him up in front of it with bloody hands. Any movement feels like he’s being ripped into again and he can’t even make a sound to show it.

“Ah, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes shakily. “You’ll be beautiful on the mantle I built for you. You’ll be perfect.”

There’s blood all over him, some of the wounds still dripping with it. Keith lets his head loll, all strength sapped out of him. Keith stares at the alien from the corner of his eyes, trying to ignore the hands all over him, touching the places he’s taken away from him. There’s something hard against his ass, clothed in fine fabric. The alien pants in his ear, rubbing slowly against him, murmuring about what a pretty, pretty little doll he is.

And Keith feels disgust this time, for what he’s been maimed into.

His perfect little doll.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope y'all enjoyed this??  
> hopefully this gets some attention even if it's shipless.  
> comments are better than kudos.


End file.
